We were flying through the hot night and I remember you grabbing my hand, it felt like my whole life I was just waiting for your touch. The mist was damp and illuminated through these street lamps that lined the concrete path, carrying heavy hearts, stitched hearts. My sweater was hit with wind and my hair extended behind my neck, my face was hard against the night and you were just wearing a t-shirt because you never got even the slightest chill, even in late September, when I needed you most. We were kind of doing a skipping run, letting our legs move to the beat of this earth and you led me into the cemetery and I’m normally scared here at night, but not with you. Right now, your back is turned on me, your white t-shirt has a somber hue of youth and I can feel your heartbeat from 3 feet away. I walk up next to you and leaves crinkle beneath my oxfords — a stripe of blue within brown leather — I never wear them anymore. Your head turns to look at me but both your palms stay resting on the top of a gravestone, and you’re glued to the death of this being, to the bones that we are walking over and the dirt we will become. But I stand next to you and I silently slipped my arm into yours, and the world has never been so silent, and my heart has never been so loud, beating so fast in such calmness, found right where I needed to be. There was nothing left to be afraid of, my faded lipstick cracking into sour lips, the hemp bracelet in between the hairs standing on your arm, our eyes looking ahead into the woods together, the sky getting darker, darker, darker, this place is what I used to call home, but now home is just with you. Not afraid of dying, not even afraid of death.